In Thanksgiving
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Pre-Series. The Brotherhood loses one of its own, sparking another run of holiday bad luck for the Winchesters. When things take an unexpected turn, the binds of family are strained and the young brothers learn the meaning of true thanksgiving.
1. Chapter 1

In Thanksgiving

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: This is a standalone Wee-Winchester story, but it would be a great idea to have read _Gone But Not Forgotten_ and _Home for Christmas_ as important side characters are introduced in those stories. Besides, they are guaranteed to get you in a festive mood. ;-) As a side note, I am so grateful for all the readers and reviewers who make mine and Tidia's days with your lovely comments about The Brotherhood AU. It is even better to see so many talented writers dipping their pens into the well and writing beautiful stories that only expand this universe. So, unlike Samuel Winchester in this tiny tale, I am very thankful, thankful for all of you. Enjoy. PS. Tidia and I have a story coming up hopefully in time for Christmas. Keep an eye out soon!

RCJ

"_Though we are not always singing, we should always be giving thanks." –Matthew Henry_

It was nearly Thanksgiving and Samuel Winchester was not one bit thankful. In fact, the eight year old was committed to declaring the holiday null and void. Cancelled. For Good. Never mind that he loved turkey and was assured one of the coveted drumsticks this year seeing as how half of his real competition would not be present. With Caleb out, Uncle Bobby was far too slow to offer much of a threat at the dinner table and Sam's dad only liked white meat. That left Atticus Finch and Scout, who, being dogs, had the distinct disadvantage seated beneath the table, or depending on their manners, banished to the barn. Despite the turn of good luck, Sam would not partake in any part of the unfortunate bird.

He was prepared to even forget the tart, tangy cranberries and pomegranate salad, too, along with the special cornbread stuffing and dumplings Pastor Jim still made in his grandmother's old metal pot right over the roaring fire. Fluffy, buttermilk biscuits would also suffer the ban. Determined, Sam would deprive himself dessert as well. It was not a huge sacrifice. Sam doubted that even his favorite pumpkin pie would taste as sweet in light of the events that had transpired. No, Sam Winchester would not celebrate Thanksgiving this year, not unless his demands were met. He would not even pretend to be the tiniest of tiniest tads grateful.

"There you are, my boy."

Sam was sitting in front of the fireplace with Scout fast asleep in his lap, an arm draped over Atticus Finch as he regarded the flames in front of them when Pastor Jim entered the library. Sam had taken the old Golden Retriever and Black Labrador puppy into his close confidences, revealing his plan, assured from past experiences that the dogs were not only great listeners, but excellent at keeping a secret. Atticus's tale thumped against the braided rug and Sam looked away from the waning fire as Pastor Jim joined them. When Sam didn't speak the pastor took the high back leather chair nearest the mantel. Sam looked away.

"I was hoping you might help me with the pumpkins," the pastor said. "The longer I can keep Robert out of the kitchen, the better chance my deviled eggs have of actually making it to the table. Besides, you're much better at removing the seeds, smaller swifter fingers you know. We could even toast up a batch like we did last year and…"

"I'd rather not." Sam knew he sounded surly, but was confident he was just outside of disrespectful, a fine line he understood from watching his big brother navigate to avoid invoking the wrath of grownups.

"I see." Pastor Jim picked up the poker and nudged the fire. It popped and jumped, the flames becoming brighter to cast dancing shadows on the floor. Scout growled in her sleep, shifted so that her boxy head tucked under Sam's arm. At almost six months she was nearly half as big as Sam, but still believed herself to be a pup. "With your father and Mackland away on a hunt and not expected back until in the morning I was truly counting on your help in the kitchen. Tomorrow is a very important day and…"

"I'm not doing Thanksgiving this year." If the look on the pastor's face was any indication, Sam might have made a misstep verging into the territory that often got his brother a good tongue lashing or a spanking from their father. However, Pastor Jim was much more indulgent. It wasn't anger or rebuke that lit his blue eyes, it was deep disappointment.

"I hate to hear that." Pastor Jim returned the poker to its rightful place. "Thanksgiving will not be the same without you."

"I'm sorry." Sam truly was. He loved Thanksgiving, and he loved Pastor Jim even more. Making his friend sad was not something Sam had figured into the equation, but now that it was set, Sam had to stick to his plan. He was steadfast as Mac liked to put it. Sam's big brother Dean used the word stubborn often with adjectives like very and extremely in front of it. Their father chose other phrases, ones that succeeded in provoking even Pastor Jim's darker side. "I'm boycotting the holiday."

"Boycotting?" Pastor Jim tilted his head to the side like Scout often did when Sam was explaining something the dog didn't quite understand. "You don't say?"

"That means refusing to deal with something or someone as a protest against it. It can be a good bargaining chip." Sam nodded. "I looked it up in my dictionary."

"I'm sure Mackland would be quite pleased to hear that, the scholarly pursuit part, not that you've decided not to celebrate with us this year. He was looking forward to having one person with which to carry on an adult conversation."

"He's letting Caleb opt out. I should get a pass, too." Sam folded his arms over his chest, careful of Scout who grunted and kicked her paws at the sudden shuffling. Atticus whined a little at Caleb's name, his tale brushing against the rug now instead of thumping. "Dean can have _both _the drumsticks. I don't want my share."

"I'm afraid that without you or Caleb at the table, your brother might not have his usual appetite either."

It was another facet Sam hadn't considered. Dean was already sad about Caleb blowing them off for a girl he'd met at college. Dean had told Sam that was the real reason Caleb wasn't coming home to Kentucky for the holiday, not impending finals and a pressing project like he had proclaimed to Mac. Dean hadn't told Sam he was hurt by his best friend's disloyalty, not in actual words, but Sam had heard Dean's end of his and Caleb's conversation, seen Dean's face when he'd hung up the phone with Caleb the night before. Sam knew his big brother better than anyone. Dean hadn't even told his best friend goodbye, even refusing Sam's offer to share his hidden stash of M&M's, going to bed without so much as a goodnight or reading Sam a story. Sam was most certainly not thankful for this awful new girl named Rachel.

Still, Sam knew what he had to do. "He'll have Atticus and Scout. They'd probably love a turkey leg."

"As wonderful company as Mr. Finch and his sidekick Scout are, I'm afraid they can't make up for your absence."

"People can't be replaced." Sam had heard Pastor Jim say that just the day before at Pastor Solomon O'Shaughnessy's funeral. It was the first funeral Sam had attended, except for the one Pastor Jim at Sam's insistence had given to Bunnicula, a baby rabbit that had fallen victim to Atticus Finch's rough play a few years before. Sam's father hadn't thought it a good idea for Sam to go to Solomon's funeral, but Sam in all his steadfastness had insisted. Sam had come to regret the victory. Quickly lost in the sea of mourners who had turned out for the former pastor's wake, he'd soon discovered human funerals were not really the 'celebration of life' Mac had painted them to be, but were much sadder and more complicated than those given for misfortunate bunnies.

"But they can be remembered." Pastor Jim folded his hands in front of him, leaned closer to Sam. "It's important we collect memories of those we love, because memories are magical things. They can sustain us long after a separation. They keep us warm on cold nights; fill us up when we are running on empty from miles of bad road. They can stir laughter in the least likely of times and bring tears even in the happiest of moments, but I tell you the truth when I say they are true treasures, more precious than silver or gold."

Sam stared at the Pastor, blinking rapidly. Solomon had penned similar words on the last page of his journal just a few days before his death. Solomon had written that those words were shared with him by a very special and wise wee little boy some years ago. That wee boy had been Sam.

"Memories can also make you angry." It was something no one had mentioned to a five year old Sam when he'd launched a noble quest to recover Solomon's memory for him during one of the pastor's visits to the farm. Solomon had been Pastor Jim's mentor in both his callings of hunting and ministry. He held a special place in Jim's heart, and had found one in Sam's as well. Sam had been instantly enamored with the old man who looked more like a retired mall Santa than a respected battle tried hero of The Brotherhood and much-loved man of the cloth. Sam had never met a hunter who smelled like peppermint and pipe tobacco, or one who could pull quarters from little boys' ears. Sam had vowed to help Solomon reclaim his failing memory after he'd overheard two of the women from Jim's church gossiping about Solomon's poor state. Now that Sam was eight, practically a grown up and no longer a baby, he could see that his mission was flawed, but it had made Solomon happy at the time, which had more than satisfied Sam in all his young naiveté.

"I suppose they can at that." Pastor Jim ran a hand over his chin. "It is all in the way we choose to look at them."

"Anyway I look at it, Pastor Solomon is still dead. He won't be coming for Thanksgiving like you said." Sam no longer cared if he was on the right side of the disrespect line. Pastor Jim had promised Sam he could sit next to Solomon, who was to be the honored guest at tomorrow's festivities as it would also be a celebration of Solomon's 89th birthday that would fall on the following Wednesday.

"I take it that Solomon's absence is what has spurned this sudden boycotting of one of your favorite days."

"Thanksgiving is all about taking a day to be grateful to God for what we have." Sam had studied the history behind Thanksgiving in school for the last month, enjoying the special books and coloring sheets his teacher, Mr. Connely had presented. Dean had even helped Sam make a shoebox diorama of the first Thanksgiving complete with tiny Indian figures and pilgrims played by toy soldiers. They'd even constructed a teepee from toothpicks. "I'm not grateful to God. Not one bit. In fact, I'm mad at him."

"I have been where you are, Samuel." Pastor Jim touched the silver band on his hand, the one he'd worn for Miss Emma, not the one he wore as Guardian."It is not an easy place to be, Son."

"I don't care." Sam narrowed his gaze, bit his lip to hold the tears he could feel building at bay. He was not a baby anymore. He would not cry. "I'm going to stay mad until God changes his mind."

"What exactly are you hoping He will reconsider?"

"Taking Pastor Solomon away to be with Him." Sam had never known anyone who had died. Not counting his mom, but Sam could not really remember _knowing _her. Memories of his mother were lost to him, just like Pastor Solomon. Sam only knew about her in the way one knows a character in a story book, third hand. He knew the way she looked from pictures, that her hair shone like sunshine and that she smelled like daisies from the few things his father and brother mentioned. Dean told him stories of burnt cookies and bed time songs, but Sam didn't _know_ her. There were no memories of her to fill him up or keep him warm on cold nights. When he thought of his mom, he felt an echo of an ache, like a week old bruise almost forgotten until someone mashed on it. Sam knew Pastor Solomon. Sam had loved Pastor Solomon. This pain of his loss was fresh and unrelenting. Like the agony Sam experienced when he broke his arm.

"I'm afraid some things are non-negotiable. Death is not a decision God takes lightly. He rarely reverses his will when it comes to those he sees fit to take."

"But it has happened. Jesus did it." Sam pointed to the Bible he'd taken from Jim's room. "Lots of times. Lazarus is a prime example. I researched it."

Jim took The Bible, ran his hand over the cracked cover reverently. "That's true. No task is too big for God. Miracles happen every day."

"Then he can give Solomon back to us."

"God does not always give us what we _want_, Samuel. He does what is best."

"Then we can fix it with magic." Sam was nothing if not resourceful. Mac told him there were always numerous solutions to any problem. "The Brotherhood can do anything."

"It is not our place to undo such things, my boy." Pastor Jim's voice took on a forceful edge, one he rarely used with Sam and Dean, one typically reserved for John Winchester. "The Brotherhood is here to help maintain the natural balance, to right wrongs, to keep order in this universe, never forget that. We work in the light, not in darkness. What's dead should remain dead. Do you understand me?"

Sam did understand. "Then the dragons should have saved him, Pastor Jim. They should have protected Solomon because he was one of us."

"The dragons." Jim sighed in the way only adults could. He shook his head, his hands clenching The Bible they held. When he met Sam's gaze again, the pastor's blue eyes sparkled in the firelight, like when the sun struck the surface of the pond. "Alas, some tasks are beyond even our mighty winged friends. Death is their St. George."

Pastor Jim's admission struck fear in Sam's heart. He'd come to rely on the promise that the mighty dragons of his childhood could take on any enemy, even one as strong as death. After all, they had protected his family thus far. Their castle walls had known no breech. Not one person Sam loved had died on the dragons' watch. Solomon was their first defeat. Sam would not have it. He could not bear it. It held too many untold horrors, possibilities he refused to entertain.

"Caleb says St. George is a sissy," Sam declared, eliciting another whine from Atticus Finch.

What Caleb actually said about St. George on the few occasions when the legendary man who defeated dragons was brought up was something Sam could not repeat in front of the pastor, realizing even in his distressed state that some four letter words Jim refused to tolerate even from his boys. More than once Sam had witnessed his brother and Caleb make that mistake. Sam might have been the youngest and smallest, but as Bobby pointed out to the older boys, Sam was already by far the smartest of the three.

"I know what Caleb thinks of St. George." Pastor Jim stood, tucking his Bible under his arm. "I also know he believes the dragons are incapable of defeat, that Belac is invincible. But sometimes even believing something with all our hearts does not make it necessarily true, it only makes it ones very own truth."

"What's the difference?" Sam peered up at the pastor from beneath too long bangs that had now fallen across his eyes.

"Faith." Pastor Jim bent and ran a gentle hand over Sam's hair, brushing it away from his face. "And that can make all the difference in the world."

Sam frowned, wary of the Pastor's logic. "Will it bring Solomon back?"

"No, but I promise that in time it will make his loss bearable. It will allow us to move on even though the present pain of his absence makes it seem unlikely." Pastor Jim straightened, smiling at Sam. "Come join me in the kitchen when you're ready. We'll talk some more. Conversations such as these go down much better with a cup of cocoa and cookies."

Sam watched the pastor go; feeling slightly betrayed when Atticus followed, obviously lured by one of his favorite words. 'Cookie' was in the top five of Mr. Finch's canine vocabulary along with ride, walk, bacon and Caleb. Sam had more fortitude than his furry friend. He would not be tempted by Pastor Jim's reassuring company or by oatmeal raisin confections and the hot chocolate Jim made with real Hershey bars. No, Sam was sticking to his plan. He had great faith in his ability to convince God to send Pastor Solomon back to them. Then no one would be in pain. Not only was Sam smart, he was very convincing when he needed to be.

"Come on, Scout." Sam scooted the black Lab from his lap and stood. The puppy stretched, yawning widely as her tail started to wag, a sure sign she was up to the task at hand. "We're going on our first official hunt."

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

In Thanksgiving

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: So my attempts to have this story complete by Thanksgiving here in the States was an epic fail, but I hope you will enjoy this long chapter instead. For those who sent reviews and very touching private messages, thank you for sharing your stories with me. Knowing my work brings even a modicum of comfort is the best reward.

"Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."-1 Thessalonians 5:18

RcJ*RcJ*RcJ*RcJ

Dean Winchester was so close to making his getaway. Pastor Jim had temporarily abandoned his post at the stove, giving Bobby a hand with the groceries he'd sent the other hunter into town to get. Dean had made his move as soon as he heard the car pull into the drive and the screen door slam. He'd muted the ballgame he was watching, sneaking into the kitchen past Atticus Finch who Jim had left as sentry. The Golden Retriever was a terrible guard dog. Dean bribed him with a piece of ham, taking a slice for himself and a couple of Pastor Jim's devilled eggs as well. He'd just crossed the threshold into the living room to innocently resume his viewing of the game when the phone on the kitchen wall rang.

"Crap," Dean muttered around a mouthful of egg. He could let it go, act as if he hadn't heard it, but it could be his father, maybe Mac, any countless number of hunters or maybe someone from Jim's church. Guardians and pastors were always on duty. Jim always answered the phone.

Dean swallowed hard, considered shoving the other contraband in his mouth but figured he'd be safe to grab the phone and make a getaway around the corner in case Jim came back in, grateful for the long cord that allowed such a maneuver.

"Merlin's."

"_Pastor Jim won't appreciate the greeting, Kid." _

Dean rolled his eyes at Caleb's reprimand, tore a small piece of ham from his piece to appease Atticus who was now sitting at his feet looking up at him. Dean wasn't sure if the unabashed love was because of the food Dean was holding or if Atticus had heard his favorite human's voice.

"Who's going to tell him? It's not like you're around to rat me out, Dick Head." Dean tossed another piece of ham to Atticus. He doubted Pastor Jim would make a fuss even if Damien did tell on him. The pastor was walking on egg shells around Dean, something that told the twelve year old Caleb probably wouldn't be the only one missing Thanksgiving tomorrow. Dean's father would more than likely be kept away by complications in his current hunt.

_"Actually, I'm on my way to Kentucky as we speak."_

Dean's heart kicked up a notch, but he kept his voice neutral. "Don't tell me your girlfriend dumped you already. That has to be some kind of record."

"_For the last time, Deuce. I don't have a girlfriend. I was working on a project and…" _

"And you just happened to finish it ahead of time." Dean knew he should be grateful that Caleb was coming home. They'd get to pull their typical pranks on Bobby and work on finding a way to make sure Dean's dad didn't skip Christmas in a few weeks as he was prone to do some years. "We both know you're not the brightest crayon so my money is still on the girl ditching you for something or someone better."

"_Where's Sam?" _

The question caught Dean off guard. Damien rarely missed a chance to offer a nasty comeback when he was being blasted, especially if it was his way with the ladies being called into question, and Caleb rarely called Sam, _Sam_. It was Sammy, or most often The Runt. Dean's big brother radar alarmed.

"Why?"

"_I just don't hear him yammering in the back ground. In fact it's awful quiet there. What's going on? Where's Jim?"_

"First Sammy, now Jim. A different guy might think you didn't want to talk to him." Dean glanced around the room, then up the stairs recalling when exactly he last had eyes on his little brother. Sam had been in a foul mood since Solomon's funeral. The old guy hadn't been around all that much in the grand scheme of things, but Sam had formed an attachment to him, much like he did all the other inhabitants of Jim's farm and any stray he might encounter. Dean had thought for a long time his brother cared for Solomon like one of the old goats or geese that one might run across at the home place, but then after Christmas last year he'd noticed the Santa Pez dispenser tucked in Prince Samuel's castle. It stood along with the miniature dragons, a silver horse, and a troll. Sam considered Solomon family. Dean hadn't sensed any danger in his brother's tendency to have a big, accepting heart until now. "What's going on, Damien?"

"_Let me talk to Jim." _

Dean heard the kitchen door open, Atticus's ears perked. "Jim's busy."

"_Damn it, Dean. Put Jim on the phone." _

The use of his given name set off more warning bells for Dean. "Not until you tell me why you're calling, _Caleb_."

"Dean…" Jim came around the corner, eying the twelve year old. Dean's raised voice and defensive posture must have set off the pastor's own internal alarm because he placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, held out the other for Dean to give him the phone. He didn't even wince at the unlawful contraband Dean was still holding. "What's wrong, my boy? Who's on the phone?"

Dean passed the phone to Jim, turned to run up the stairs, calling for Sam as he went. He knew even before he opened their bedroom door that Sam wouldn't be there. Caleb might have been the psychic of the family, the one who could read thoughts, but Dean could read his best friend. Caleb was worried, worried about Sam, worried enough to forget his holiday plans with Rachel.

"Sammy," Dean walked through their empty room opening the door to Caleb's bedroom. The older hunter's room was dark, the windows offering little light as the sun had set thirty minutes before, and the cloud cover hid any trace of the full moon that Dean knew was hanging somewhere in the sky. Thoughts of the late November night brought werewolves to mind. Mac and John were hunting such a creature just over across the state line in North Carolina. "Sam! If you're hiding, I'm going to give you to the count of three to come out on your own. If I have to come find you, you're in big trouble, Kid. You and your little dog, too."

Dean flipped the switch on the wall casting Damien's room in soft light. His bed was still unmade from when they'd all been home almost a month before to help Jim put up hay for the winter. Legos were spread on the floor, a half-finished bridge Sam and Caleb had been working on then, but no sign of Sam or Scout. "I mean it, Sammy. If you keep this up, I'll make you watch The Wizard of Oz tomorrow night. There's a double feature. I swear flying monkeys are in your future if you don't come out."

"Is he up here?"

Bobby Singer's voice had Dean spinning around. The mechanic was still wearing his coat, his face red from either the cold outside or his jog up the stairs. The rare look of fear on the seasoned hunter's face stole Dean's breath. He shook his head. Bobby turned on his heel, heading out of the boys' rooms. Dean followed like a stumbling zombie.

"Sam!" Bobby bellowed as he burst into the library. There was evidence of Sam in his favorite room. Books spread in front of the dying flames of the fireplace. His old blanket dragged out of the Impala before their dad had taken off. Scout's treasured baseball she'd stolen from Dean with the cover half chewed off that had Dean's eyes stinging.

Bobby turned on him and Dean blinked furiously. "Does he have the code to The Tomb?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't even know it."

Bobby stepped over to the painting of Abe Lincoln, moving it aside to type numbers into the hidden panel behind it. "That doesn't mean Tiny Einstein hasn't picked it up along the way. Mac practically let him cut his teeth on the old journals. You'd think they were comics the way that kid likes to read them."

Dean let out the breath he was holding when the false wall that hid a heavy metal door slid away. Automatic lights flooded the room bouncing off wooden book cases, reflecting off the deep mahogany of the round table in the center. No Sam.

"Damn it." Bobby left The Tomb open, heading to Jim's room across the way.

"Bobby, what's going on? What did Caleb tell Jim?" Dean jogged after the older hunter, his heart thundering in his chest as each room revealed no signs of Dean's little brother.

Bobby ignored Dean, opening the pastor's door. He stomped through the room, not answering Dean until he'd made it into the small study at the far end. It had at one time been another room, a nursery. Images of Sam's nursery sprung unbidden and unwanted to Dean's mind. Jim and Emma hadn't been able to have children so Jim had torn down the walls converting it into something they could still draw pleasure from. Jim's oak desk sat on one side in front of the window. Miss Emma's beloved sewing machine still sat across the way, bolts of colored cloth stacked on a bookshelf along with volumes of books by authors such as Jane Austen and Charles Dickens.

"Bobby! Stop."

Dean's demand had the hunter turning towards him with a look of remorse that Dean could have done without. "Ah hell, Kid."

Dean clenched his fists, readied himself. "Tell me."

Bobby took his hat off, ran a hand over his thinning hair. "Junior had a tingling in his Spidey sense, that's all. It's got him in a tizzy."

"Caleb had a vision about Sammy?" Caleb's visions were never good, in fact they often warned of impending doom and death. Dean thought his heart might pound its way free of his body to land bloody and in sputtering spasms on Pastor Jim's soft honey oak floors. He should have been keeping a better eye on his little brother instead of brooding in front of the television all day. "Was it the werewolf?"

"Werewolf?" Bobby looked confused. "Hell, no. Caleb didn't have a vision so don't go blowing this out of proportion, Drama Much. He had a feeling, that's all."

"Then why was he being Mr. Evasive? Why is he coming home?" Caleb never lied to Dean, but he had been known to dance around the truth if he thought it was in the younger boy's best interest.

"I'm guessing Jim's turkey and dumplings and his favorite sidekick have something to do with the sudden road trip, but the sooner we find your little brother the better I'll feel about ribbing the kid for going MIA from school and letting his stomach and girly nostalgia get the best of him."

Dean didn't need any more explanation. Caleb could fill him in once he was here and Sam was once more safely under Dean's watch. "The barn?"

"Maybe." Bobby nodded. "You check there. I'll take the root cellar and the chicken coop."

Dean knew his little brother would never chance the root cellar alone. He barely braved the creaky steps and cobwebs during light of day when he and Dean might be sent to retrieve canned vegetables or a jar of preserves from Jim's winter stores. The barn was a different story and Dean all but expected to find his baby brother and Scout curled on the stacks of hay with one of the barn cats when he saw the crack in the door, yellow light spilling out onto the darkened ground. His chest tightened at the cold that bit at his bare arms and face. He hadn't bothered with a coat and hoped that Sam had remembered his. When he pushed the door wider, Jim and Atticus were the only inhabitants, not counting One in a Million and Fat Chance. The horses neighed a greeting.

"I take it your brother wasn't to be found in the house?"

"He's AWOL." Dean took a few more steps into the barn, scanning the loft, praying he might catch sight of a dangling foot, maybe Scout's tail, or hear a muffled giggle. The Pit wasn't an option as Jim's tractor was pulled in over the opening to the underground storage area. Jim said it was because of threat of a wintry mix on Thanksgiving Day, but Dean was pretty sure it was to keep his current house guests, namely Bobby Singer and John Winchester, out of his dwindling stash of home brew.

"I don't understand how he got past us. I have been in the kitchen since I left him in the library earlier this afternoon."

"The window in our bedroom," Dean said. There was a wide ledge, big strong tree limbs that easily led to the porch roof, which was not a far jump at all for a crafty eight year old boy and his half grown dog.

"I should have had the heart to dismember that old oak years ago when Caleb frequently used it as an escape." Jim ran a hand through his wiry hair, leaving silver strands standing in disarray. "More importantly, I shouldn't have left Samuel alone. Solomon's death left him quite distraught. I forget that this is a new experience for him, novel and terrible."

"We need to check the pond." It was where Dean went when he was upset. Maybe Sam would do the same.

"I don't think so, my boy." Jim met Dean's gaze. "I have a feeling Samuel might have been called a little farther than where you tend to venture."

"Like where?"

"Like to Emma's Field."

"The secret garden on the mountain?" Jim had taken them to the special spot the past May after all three boys had landed in a bit of trouble at Dean and Sam's then school of Sweet Oaks. He'd let them plant trees in memorial to their moms, next to the one he'd planted for Emma so many years before. It had been one of the many attempts by adults to make the awful holiday of Mother's Day not so horrible. "Why? If he wanted to plant a tree for Solomon, why didn't he just ask?"

"I don't think he went there with saying goodbye to Solomon in mind." Jim sighed, patting at his hair to tame the flyaway locks back into place. "I think he went there to negotiate for the pastor's release."

"I don't understand." Dean had talked to his brother enough to know that losing Pastor Solomon had deeply troubled Sam. Dean didn't really get it. The old guy was creeping up on ninety, practically unheard of for a hunter, and went peacefully in his sleep, something else that Dean was pretty certain rarely happened in The Brotherhood. Dean figured Solomon got lucky. Sam didn't seem to see it that way. Dean chalked it up to his brother being super sensitive and still a little clueless about all the horrible ways it could have gone down.

Jim moved across the barn as he spoke to Dean, stepping into one of the stalls. "You see, there may have been occasions when I inadvertently related that spot to Heaven, told Samuel that I often went there when I wanted to feel closer to Emma, to God. It seems Samuel is of the mind that he can convince God there has been a mistake; that Solomon shouldn't have died."

Dean had to admit that seeing the field full of wild flowers that day back in the spring had brought thoughts of the Garden of Eden to mind. It seemed a spot perfect for finding the elusive being that Jim often described as Love and Light Walking, but he still wasn't clear on why Sam would be so determined to have a face to face with The Big Guy. "Sam wouldn't go that far alone. Not after dark. He knows better."

"Sometimes the heart overrules the head, my boy. Grief can make a person do unreasonable things."

Dean's mind went to his father. John Winchester was a prime example of what grief could drive a reasonable, intelligent person to suddenly undertake. Greif had destroyed the father Dean knew. He would not let it have his brother.

Jim reappeared, his face grim. "One of the lanterns is gone, along with the backpack we use for picnics."

"We have to go after him. That trail is hard to follow in the daylight." Not to mention there was a werewolf on the loose. And bears. Jim had seen black bears on the trail. Had they already hibernated or were they on the prowl for that last big meal before a long winter's sleep. The dark thoughts propelled Dean to the door. He ran straight into Bobby who was coming inside.

"Whoa, whoa." The older hunter held tight when Dean tried to pull free. "Where do you think you're going with your pants on fire, Kid?"

"I'm going to get Sam."

Bobby kept a firm grip on Dean's arm as he looked to Pastor Jim. "No signs of the shrimp then?"

"There are signs, not the ones we hoped. It seems young Samuel has decided to take on a solo mission, without so much a word to anyone else."

"Well ain't that just like a Winchester." Bobby gave Dean a little shove to keep him inside, pinned between him and the pastor. He pointed a finger at Dean. "One of you out in the wilds is quite enough."

Dean puffed up. "I'm going to get my brother. With you or through you, it's your choice."

"Right." Bobby looked far from intimidated. To save his ego Dean reasoned it was because Bobby was used to facing off with the much bigger, nastier, and even more stubborn Winchester. "When Junior gets here we'll go together."

"I'm not waiting on Caleb. It could be hours. Hours Sam is out by himself." The thought was nearly Dean's undoing. He'd dropped the ball again, letting his brother slip away out of sight. Their farther would never forgive him. It would be worse than when Sam was six and hid from Dean at a diner making Dean believe he had been taken by some monster, maybe even the monster that killed their mother. The punishment from John Winchester had been nothing compared to the agonizing dread Dean experienced not knowing where his brother was, feeling helpless to protect him.

"Caleb isn't far," Jim spoke up, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean hadn't even realized the pastor had come up behind him. Some hunter he was turning out to be. "He called from Louisville. It seems he had a change of heart about Thanksgiving after you two spoke on the phone last night. He's been on the road since early this morning."

"He'll be able to sense Sam."

"That's a good bet," Bobby replied.

Dean would never admit to how the fact that Caleb would soon be there calmed him. He wasn't a little boy who needed his sworn protector to make everything better anymore. He was a good tracker in his own right, having been taught by the best. But in the darkness, Caleb's psychic link to Sam would prove much more useful than traditional hunting skills. Dean convinced himself his relief was completely logical, based on a need to find Sam alone and had nothing to do with comfort for himself. That theory held water right up until the moment Caleb walked through the kitchen doors not more than thirty minutes later.

Dean had been sitting at the table, watching the clock, nibbling on the cookie Pastor Jim insisted putting on his plate while Bobby readied their gear for the hike and the pastor paced between the stove and the window, looking out every so often though the only view allowed him was the woods and pond beyond. Dean blamed the fact he'd been imagining every worst case scenario with his baby brother for the embarrassing act of him running to the door when he heard the jeep pull in and Atticus barked his high pitched yelp that alerted family had arrived. If Dean beating the Retriever from around the table wasn't bad enough, he threw himself at Caleb as soon as the older hunter cleared the entrance.

"Hey, hey, Deuce."

Caleb's voice had Dean's eyes burning and he buried his face in the older boy's jacket, partly out of embarrassment, but mostly out of his need to take shelter. The smell of the aftershave Caleb used mixed with gun powder and the faint traces of paint thinner had Dean clinging tighter. He felt Atticus bump his broad body up against them, knew Jim was lingering just beyond. Dean wasn't sure if he was shaking or if it was Atticus shivering with joy.

"Deuce, it's okay. Look at me." Caleb ran a hand over Dean's hair, easing back when Dean's breath hitched. He held Dean at arm's length so he could meet his gaze. He gripped both of Dean's shoulders. "We'll find the runt. He'll be fine. I promise. Everything's going to fine."

Dean didn't trust his voice, having already been betrayed by his stupid emotions. He wiped his eyes, gave the manliest nod he could manage as he pulled himself together and stepped out Caleb's grasp.

"My boy." Jim unabashedly pulled Caleb in for a hug and Dean smirked when he saw Caleb roll his eyes at the pastor's typical heartfelt welcome. Caleb might have pretended to be exasperated by the open affection, but Dean didn't miss the way he returned the embrace, how he held on just a little longer than necessary. Dean wasn't the only one who recognized home. "You made excellent time."

Caleb flashed Dean a quick grin over Jim's shoulder, both knowing the Pastor's observation was not meant as a compliment. It should have taken Caleb an hour to get from Louisville if he had obeyed all the traffic laws which they all knew he had not.

"I didn't run any red lights, Jim, I swear."

Jim released Caleb, patted his cheek. "We'll talk about your disregard of safety and the speed limit later after Samuel is back with us."

"Bobby said some gear was gone." Caleb dropped his duffel, bending down to pet Atticus who had resorted to sitting on Caleb's feet, leaning into his legs.

"Sammy took the back pack and a lantern." Dean cleared his throat. "And Scout."

"Well, if they run across any squirrel, Sammy should be safe." Caleb touched his head. "And I can link to Scout."

"Wouldn't it be easier just to hook up with Sammy?" Dean gestured to Atticus. "The last time you tapped into the doggy chat line, you made a love connection."

Dean didn't like the way Caleb tilted his head at Jim, or the way his face went all sympathetic when he moved to stand in front of Dean. "I lost contact with Sam in Louisville. That's when I called you."

"What do you mean you lost contact? You always know where we are." Caleb had once explained to Dean that when it came to people his psychic abilities were similar to the map of the stars in the sky. He was aware of all the stars, but some stood out, were easily recognized and found like the constellations Jim taught them as younger boys. Dean hadn't asked, but he'd imagined that if his Dad, Mac, Bobby and Jim were like Draco, Pegasus, Orion, and The Big Dipper respectively in Caleb's mind map, then he and Sam were like The North Star. A guy just didn't lose track of Polaris. It wasn't technically the brightest star in the sky, but it was directly in line with Earth's axis. It was always, _always_ a constant.

"He blinked out." Caleb must have been reading Dean's mind because he rushed on to explain. "It's not like he's gone, gone. I would know the difference. I would know if Sam were dead. So would you, Deuce."

"Then why can't you find him?" Dean demanded, trying not to think about something his brainy little brother had told him once. It was a summer night at the farm last year. They were lying on their backs in the still warm sand by the pond, staring up at the night sky after too many hot dogs and S'mores. Sam pointed out the Milky Way, and then in Sam fashion declared that most the stars they saw in the sky were actually already dead, people just didn't know it yet. The light they saw reflected was really just a memory of what the star had once been.

"I don't know." Caleb shook his head. "One minute he was there, and then he wasn't. It's like he's hidden or really far away."

"Has that happened before?" Dean wracked his mind, trying to keep the image of falling stars crashing to the earth at bay.

"With you once." Caleb looked at Dean and Dean felt lightheaded.

"When we wrecked the truck, several Christmas's ago," Jim interjected. "I remember you explaining the situation in such a manor."

"Yeah." Caleb raked a hand through his hair. "Like that."

Dean's heart slammed against his chest, his eyes stung again. "I was hurt. I was unconscious. You think Sammy's badly hurt. That's why you rushed to get here."

"Hey," Caleb reached for him again, squeezing his shoulder. "Don't go there. All I know is he's off my radar. We don't know why. It could be something as simple as the Runt was smart enough to take a hex bag with him or he's loaded his pockets with obsidian and sugilite. I knew my days of having the upper hand in hide and seek would be over soon enough."

"Okay." Dean tried to accept Caleb's optimism, but knew his brother had no reason to think Caleb's abilities would be a threat to his plan. Caleb was supposed to be hours away in Alabama. Sam could be meticulous and singularly focused like their father to the point of being blind to certain things. He was beyond stubborn, but he processed everything, considering all facets before taking a leap. Dean would lay money Sam hadn't considered psychic protection just as he hadn't considered he'd end up lost and hurt on his expedition to bring Pastor Solomon back into the fold.

"That's my boy." Caleb forced a grin. "We need to keep it together until we find Sammy, then we'll make the little shit pay for scaring the hell out of all of us. At least _we_ will that is, Jim here will probably give the brat the best seat at the table, even let him have first dibs on the biscuits without him having to say grace to win the honor."

"Don't forget the drumsticks, my boys." Jim smiled at Dean. "Samuel will be getting both of them this year."

"Great." Caleb's grip tightened on Dean's shoulder and then let him go. "I drove all the way from fucking Alabama for one of those drumsticks."

Dean knew the act was for his benefit, a ruse to keep his thoughts from his little brother's peril. Jim didn't even reprimand Caleb for his use of the 'F' word. His family was trying to protect him the best way they knew how and even though Dean was as scared as he could remember, he did what Sammy would want him to do. He tried to play along.

"And here I was thinking it was because your new girlfriend wised up and dumped your ass."

Caleb's smile wavered, and Dean realized his words must have not been as light as he meant for them to, the teasing not quite as genuine as he had planned. Or maybe they came out just like Dean wanted them to. "I told you I don't have a girlfriend, Dude."

"That's good because the last time you tried that you ended up covered in pig's blood and practically standing trial for murder."

"Dean." Jim's voice had lost all humor and Dean knew he had just jumped across that little line between joking and meanness. It was one of those margins Jim kept close tabs on. The pastor didn't tolerate his boys intentionally hurting each other anymore than he let them disrespect their elders. Caleb glanced at Jim. "Can you give us a minute?"

"I'll make sure Robert has all that we need." Jim picked up the sack of food he'd thrown together for their trip along with the first aid kit he'd retrieved from under the sink and his jacket and hat. Dean resisted the urge to trot right along with Atticus as he sagely followed the pastor out the door.

"I thought we had this cleared up last night when I explained about the project."

Dean glared at Caleb. If he thought about it long and hard it was technically the older boy's fault Dean had been distracted, distracted enough to let Sam sneak out of the house by himself. "If by project you mean your new anatomy research partner, yeah, we're clear on the subject of why you weren't coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Damn it, Deuce." Caleb pulled a chair out and shoved Dean into it, taking another and sitting across from Dean. "Rachel had nothing to do with me not making the trip. I'm sorry she answered my phone. Trust me; she won't be doing that again."

"She knew my name." It was the thing that had thrown Dean most, more than a stranger answering Caleb's cell. Warning bells had gone off in his head, and Dean would have been lying if he didn't admit to feeling an instant stab of something akin to jealousy. The girl with the singsong voice had known who Dean was. He'd heard her clear as day telling Caleb she thought it was his nephew. Dean narrowed his gaze at Caleb, daring him to lie. "Unless you talk about me in your sleep, Damien, I'm pretty damn sure you had to tell her about me, Sammy too probably. Since when do you tell random hookups about your family? We never talk about our family. That's rule number one in The Handbook."

"I may have had a lapse in judgment." Dean almost felt bad when Caleb ducked his head, started roughly twisting his sliver hunter's band around his finger. When he met Dean's gaze again, Dean registered the regret and something that looked a whole lot like hurt. "But I promise you, I was staying for the project, the one my professor said I needed an awesome grade on if I was going to pass his class by the skin of my teeth, the same one I blew off to come home and eat fucking turkey with you. So stop busting my chops about going a little native in 'Operation Normal Life', and don't blame me because Sam pulled a fast one. I know that's what you're thinking but I would never put anyone or anything over your and your brother's safety. I think you know that, or at least you should after the past seven years we've spent together."

"Things change."Dean knew he was being a brat, and picking the worst time to do so. His little brother was missing. Nothing else mattered. Maybe it was the hormones Mac kept explaining were wreaking havoc in Dean's pre-teen body or maybe it was just that a part of Dean realized that even though Caleb had every right to have a girlfriend, to take advantage of college and all that it had to offer, his best friend could easily realize that the life Mac was trying to show his son by pushing him to go to Auburn was so much better than the one they had in The Brotherhood. The only life Dean was a part of. Dean could lose both his brothers.

"Not that. Not us." Caleb reached out and wrapped his fingers around Dean's wrist, squeezing so that Dean brought his gaze from his shoes and his mind from his dark thoughts. "Some things are immutable, Kid."

Dean frowned, the word conjuring an image of Sam and his trusty thesaurus. "Immutable? That's a big word for you, Damien."

"Yeah. It means changeless." Caleb let go of his wrist, ruffled Dean's hair. "Like death, taxes and the laws of physics, which I'm also sucking at this semester by the way."

"So still no honor roll for you." Dean ran a hand through his hair, pretending to be annoyed although the sappy vow and the irritating Caleb move had him feeling more hopeful about one brother, if not the other one still out in the woods unconscious and alone except for one fun-loving rabbit chasing Labrador puppy.

"Another thing that never changes." Caleb snorted. "I guess I'll be going to summer school with all the other schmucks who screw around and fail a fucking class all in the name of some holiday fun. Of course while most my slacker buddies are in Veil or Aspen, I'm going to be traipsing through the wilds of Kentucky looking for Dorothy and Toto."

"That sucks for you." Dean understood the bluster for what it was and appreciated Caleb's attempt to shift his attention, to relate the latest Winchester calamity to the string of others they had survived and lived to joke about, even though Dean was being a royal jerk.

"Just another reason I'm going to pummel The Runt when I find him and take both the drumsticks for myself no matter The Guardian's plans, along with the first serving of biscuits and more than my share of any pies that grace the table. That includes the extra big piece Jim always dishes up for his favorite boy."

Dean nodded, not even bothering to argue that he wasn't the pastor's pick. "You can have mine as long as we get Sammy back."

"Then let's hit the trail. I for one am starving." Caleb tossed an arm around Dean's shoulder, pulling him in for a crushing side hug as they made for the door where Caleb grabbed Dean's hat and gloves from the peg and shoved them at the boy along with the jacket and hat Sam had not taken. The move had Dean's eyes stinging again, a lump lodging deep in his throat as he hugged his brother's coat to his chest. He hated freaking hormones.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

In Thanksgiving

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Sorry this chapter has been longer in coming, as an unexpected bought of bronchitis bowled me over for a few weeks. I promise another longer chapter at the first of next week. Tidia and I also have plans for an early Christmas present to our wonderful readers. So, stay tuned!

RCJ

"If the only prayer you said your whole life was 'thank you', that would suffice."

-Meister Eckhart

Sam had never liked the cold. In fact, he was going to put the coming winter on his mounting list of things he was not grateful for. Snowball fights, snow forts and hot chocolate aside, Sam preferred eternal summer. He would have loved just a bit of warmth at that very moment as he lay shivering at the bottom of the steep ravine he had just tumbled down.

Nothing hurt, nothing felt broken which was surprising considering the height from which Sam had fallen. He'd landed just outside the rocky bed of a mostly dried up stream. Just a small snake of water wound its way down the hillside alongside Sam, its slight gurgle the only sound in the too quiet woods. Sam had come to rest in a pile of broken twigs and damp fallen leaves. He sat up gingerly, rubbing his arms for warmth. He'd brought his hoodie but hadn't been able to risk going into the kitchen to get his coat, hat and gloves. Sam extended both legs to make sure he really was in one piece. He had dropped the lantern when he'd tried to catch himself after stumbling on a root but he could clearly see thanks to the huge luminescent full moon that had finally made an appearance after being hidden by clouds all evening. In fact the sky was clear now, a wash of stars dotting the inkiness above although a cold wind had picked up. Sam had indeed gotten lucky and he hoped his partner in crime had fared as well.

"Scout!" Sam whirled around, searching for the pup. Scout had charged after something that had darted out from beneath a patch of undergrowth they'd passed. Sam had given chase. In the dark the Labrador was hard to see, obstacles on the rugged path even harder to detect. Sam had called out to her just before he'd fallen. He'd been more than a little panicked at the prospect of being left alone in the woods. That fear climbed another notch as he considered all the things that could befall the half-grown dog if he wasn't there to protect her. After all, she was still a baby. Scout might have been too big for hawks and owls to be a threat now, but there were still coyotes and bears.

"Here, Girl. Come, Scout." Sam's plan to reclaim Solomon had seemed solid back at the farm. Sam's anger and hurt had fired his bravado, making him feel invincible when he'd done the unthinkable and sneaked out of the upstairs bedroom, but now Sam wondered if he shouldn't just turn back. His need to find Scout pushed him to his feet. He couldn't just leave her out by herself even if he wanted to go back home to Dean. No one got left behind. Dean would understand. It was a Marine rule as well as a Brotherhood Code.

Sam heard a bark, then another. They sounded far off, muffled as if they'd reached him through a tunnel, but it gave him a direction to head. He decided following the creek bed might be easier and safer. Sam was spurred on when another bark rang out, this one seeming a little closer. He kept calling out as the path wound through the hills, weaving in and out of the tree line. His voice echoed back to him, bringing more dread each time as Scout made no appearance, and Sam knew he was getting farther and farther away from home. He wasn't even sure he could find his way to Miss Emma's meadow from here. Heaven seemed farther away than it ever had. It was getting colder. Tears blurred Sam's vision, making him doubt the flash of light he saw off to the right.

The eight year old stopped, blinking, straining to see through the trees. The glow grew brighter. Then Sam saw the smoke.

He knew of no houses this close to Jim's, but it was possible he might have wondered off the pastor's property. A clear bark sealed Sam's decision to move forward to at least check out the possibility he had come across a homestead where Scout might have stopped.

As he strayed farther from the stream bed into the stand of forest the wind picked up to an icy blast. Sam feared the clouds would soon return along with the promise of rain or snow flurries.

The hulking evergreens and the oaks still holding a precious reserve of their colored leaves stole most of the moon's light as Sam was once more engulfed in woods, but the windows in the cabin ahead glowed brightly, warm and cheery. Sam stopped, staring. The home stood surrounded by firs and pines. There was a big stone chimney and a small front porch with a roof that shielded a stack of firewood and a rocking chair. The smell of wood smoke and something cooking inside had his eyes stinging. Even though the aromas of home evoked images of Jim's farm, the cabin looked more like a place Santa might live. Sam felt an ache ripple through his chest as the thought of the jolly old elf brought a picture of Pastor Solomon to mind. Sam saw no sign of Scout as he approached the door but kept his resolve as he heard another bark ring out this time from inside.

He knew Dean would admonish him for going to a stranger's door, especially when that strange door was in the middle of nowhere. Sam's big brother would list a thousand and one things that might happen, all of them bad, but Sam figured the sooner he found Scout, made it to the mountain, then back to the farm, the sooner Dean would never find out what Sam had undertaken. If things worked out, Dean would still be watching the game brooding over Caleb's being in love when Sam made it back. Sam held onto that very optimistic thought as he knocked and waited for an answer.

Another bark and some scratching on the door alerted Sam that he had indeed been heard and it wasn't long before the wooden door cracked slightly and a nose appeared followed by two floppy golden ears framing chocolate brown eyes. The dog was the color of Atticus but smaller. It gave a yip of greeting and Sam would have smiled if he hadn't been expecting to find a happy and repentant Black Labrador Retriever on the other side. The eight year old didn't have long to dwell on his disappointment before the door swung open wider. A wave of wonderful heat washed over Sam just before a huge shadow fell across him as light poured out of the cabin.

Sam stumbled back a step blinking up at the stranger as his eyes adjusted. The man was as tall as John Winchester but closer to Pastor Jim's age. The loose flannel shirt he was wearing didn't hide the fact he was broad shouldered and big enough to snap Sam into two if he chose to do so. Dean would tell Sam to run, but Sam stood transfixed. The man's hair was long like Caleb's, but of a color that made Sam think of the rarely used burnt amber crayon in his school box. His thick beard was the same shade, but there were strands of silver threaded through it. He smiled at Sam, revealing deep dimples not unlike Sam's very own.

"Well, who do we have here?"

Sam recovered from his shock, pulled his shoulders back, and did his best Dean Winchester imitation though his chattering teeth and shivering dampened the affect. "I'm Samuel Winchester. I'm looking for my dog. She's a Black Labrador named Scout."

The man peered past Sam into the dark yard. "You've come a long way off the path, Samuel. Are you alone?"

Sam didn't like to lie, but he'd been raised to understand the truth was dangerous. He raised his chin and tried to appear fierce like Caleb had taught him when they practiced sparring. Sam hoped he looked taller and older. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "My big brother is with me. He's looking on the other side of the creek bed. He has a gun."

"I see." The man stepped onto the porch and the yellow dog slid past his legs to greet Sam properly. He sat in front of Sam, his tail wagging furiously side to side. He showed great restraint, much better than Scout who did not have such good manners when she encountered a new person despite Pastor Jim's diligent attempts to tame her enthusiasm. "Unfortunately, the only dog here is Cephas."

"Cephas." Sam said, looking from the dog to its owner and back. At his name the dog lifted a paw, batting it at Sam as if to say 'that's me'. Sam could resist no longer and bent to pet the dog, who took Sam's move to his level as an invitation to climb all over him and lick the little boy's face. "That means 'rock."

"I see you're well-versed in Aramaic, Samuel." The man chuckled. "Rare to say the least in your generation."

"I know Latin, too." Sam shrugged his shoulder, resisting the urge to explain further. Dean said it was never safe to give out too much information. _Keep it simple, Sammy._ "I like to read."

"Ah, a fellow bibliophile." The man extended his hand. "You can call me Aidan."

Sam eyed the offering suspiciously, Caleb's voice echoing in his mind that a man's hands were dangerous weapons to be feared. Always watch them. Never get close enough to let them reach you. But then again, Pastor Jim always shook hands with people, greeting them with confidence. Sam figured it depended on the situation and although he knew Caleb and Dean would probably not approve he offered his own hand in greeting but drew a breath of relief when Aidan released his grip as Sam withdrew his hand quickly and took a tiny step back.

"You must be freezing from your search." Aidan gestured to the open door. "Would you and your brother like to come in and warm yourselves by the fire?"

A cold blast of wind tore across the porch, sending fallen leaves skittering over Sam's feet. He looked over his shoulder to where he'd said Dean was searching and then back to Aidan. The promise of warmth warred with Sam's well ingrained fear and need to find Scout. Aidan seemed to sense his trepidation.

"I'm sure your brother and dog wouldn't mind you taking a moment of respite from the cold." Aidan bent down and rubbed Cephas's head. The dog melted against his master with a contented sigh. "After all your brother has his gun and Scout, she has a nice warm coat to protect against the elements, something her boy is obviously missing."

Sam shivered violently as he stared at Aidan, wondering if the man truly believed his story or was playing along as grownups sometimes tended to do. Either way, Aidan seemed harmless, and Sam's Uncle Bobby said dogs were a good judge of character. They could sense evil in a way most humans couldn't. Sam used the rationalization to ease the guilt he felt for abandoning not only his search for Scout, but the foregoing one of the most important Winchester rules-trust no one.

Sam folded his arms over his chest. "Just for a minute."

"A minute is just enough time for a miracle." When Sam looked up at Aidan the man winked. "And hot cocoa. I bet you like yours with extra marshmallows."

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

In Thanksgiving

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind reviews. For those of you that were worried about Aidan, you can read about his and Cephas's first appearance in Brotherhood verse in the story _Home for Christmas_. I promise you he is no bad guy, in fact quite the contrary.;-)

RCJ

"_What if you woke up today with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?" -Anonymous_

Sam was surprised Aidan made his cocoa just like Pastor Jim, melting a block of dark chocolate as he swirled in whole milk. Sam watched the process from the small table in front of the fire place while his boots and hoodie dried on the hearth. Cephas was curled on a velvet cushion near the flames, his brown eyes resting on Sam. The heat from the fire seeped through Sam's damp t-shirt and jeans, easing his misery. His hands and feet tingled as they thawed, and his eyelids grew heavy with the relief. Sam was very tempted to put his head on the table, close his eyes just for a moment, but a fierce rumble had him sitting up straighter, remembering where he was. In Sam's mind, the menacing growl could have easily been a dragon's warning to tread carefully, Athewm bellowing a beware, instead of what it truly was- Sam's stomach loudly reminding him he had not eaten lunch or dinner before leaving Jim's.

Aidan's soft chuckle let Sam know he was not the only one who had heard the telltale signs of a little boy's dragon worthy hunger.

"I don't know about you, Samuel, but I am of a mind that cocoa is just not the same without something substantial to go along with it." Aidan took the steamer from the eye of the stove, setting it aside as he took two generous mugs from the cabinet. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam. "I happen to have a fresh batch of pumpkin chili that's been simmering all day. Would you like some?"

The mention of pumpkin had Sam's eyes watering with more than just exhaustion. He thought of Pastor Jim and how he'd be forced to pick all the seeds out of the gooey pumpkin guts all by himself if Sam didn't soon make it back. Another growl from Sam's stomach and the enticing smell of meat and spices that had been torturing Sam since he'd entered the small cabin had him doing the unthinkable and agreeing to join Aidan in a snack. "I love chili."

"So does Cephas." Aidan pointed to the dog now sitting at rapt attention by the table. "But it does not agree with him, so please ignore his unabashed begging."

"Scout likes it too." Sam felt even more traitorous as he peered into Cephas's warm gaze and thought of the times he intentionally accidentally dropped part of his meal onto Pastor Jim's floor for his pup and Atticus Finch. "I don't think she's had pumpkin chili though."

"It's my own recipe. I promise you can barely taste the pumpkin, but it gives the ground turkey and white beans a little something." Aidan placed the mugs of cocoa on the table, adding napkins and spoons. "Besides I have to get creative in my cooking because I find myself with an excess of the orange gourds this time of year and there is only so much pumpkin pie a man can eat before he finds himself in need of new pants."

"Pastor Jim grows too many pumpkins, too." Sam watched Aidan ladle the creamy soup from the big ceramic pot on the stove and was pretty sure he was doing a good imitation of Cephas, minus the shoe strings of drool on each side of the dog's mouth. He placed a hand over his stomach when it started its antics once more. "He makes pumpkin muffins, pumpkin bread, even pumpkin pancakes with white chocolate chips."

"Pumpkin pancakes? Those I have not tried." Aidan brought the bowls to the table, placing the bigger portion in front of Sam before taking a seat in the other chair. "Your friend Jim sounds like a man with a bit of magic in his mixing spoon."

"My big brother calls him Merlin." Sam took a whiff of the chili. It smelled wonderful and his stomach reacted with another rumble. "But Dean doesn't call him that because of his cooking. Pastor Jim has lots of power and is the one in charge of everybody."

"Men of the cloth have been trusted with great influence over their flock." Aidan nodded thoughtfully, and Sam was glad the older man related his revelation to Jim's position in the church. "They are truly guardians of the Lord's sheep."

"Jim doesn't just watch over sheep, he herds dragons, too." Sam was enjoying the chance to talk freely even if Aidan didn't understand the context. "Dean says Pastor Jim is the best Guardian ever."

"Then I'm sure he would approve of us saying grace before we eat." Aidan folded his hands in front of him, made to bow his head.

Sam had already picked up his spoon and he held it poised over the soup. "Pastor Jim thinks we should always give thanks."

"I am of the same mind." Aidan smiled, closing his eyes, but opening one back up when Sam continued to stay as he was. "You don't agree, young Samuel?"

"I'm not feeling very thankful at the moment." Sam stirred his spoon through the beans and chunks of turkey and pumpkin, knowing Pastor Jim would point out the unexpected shelter and a hearty meal as ample reason for gratitude. He shrugged off the little voice. "I'm boycotting."

"You're boycotting saying grace or God in general?"

"God and I aren't on good terms." Sam took his eyes from the bowl, gazing at Aidan. "I'm mad at Him."

"Then allow me to make an intercession for us both." Aidan bowed his head, giving thanks not only for the food, but for allowing Sam to grace his home with pleasant company with which to share a meal.

Sam was feeling just rebellious enough to keep his head up, eyes open, but he dared not take one bite until the older man had said Amen. Sam told himself it was out of respect for Pastor Jim, not any reverence for a god who took people away from their families. As soon as Aidan finished, Sam took a big bite of chili. It tasted heavenly.

"So it sounds like Pastor Jim has quite the fan in you and this brother of yours, Dean, I believe you called him."

"Dean is my big brother." Sam said after swallowing.

"I knew a Dean once." Aidan dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, gave Sam a fond smile. "He was a fine young man. If I'm not mistaken he was a big brother as well. There is nothing quite like having someone who is always on your side, always looking out for you, even willing to lay down their life if need be to spare yours."

"Dean is a great big brother. He's my favorite person in the whole world. Caleb says Dean is Pastor Jim's favorite, too. And I know he's Caleb's favorite because Caleb always watches out for him and tries to keep him safe. Even if Caleb's in love, Dean will still be his favorite, but I don't think Dean thinks so." Sam continued to eat, becoming more comfortable with each delicious bite. He swallowed again. "But I'm still the youngest, which means I get away with lots of stuff and everybody loves me, even Uncle Bobby who grumbles and grouches most of the time and Caleb who tries to act all big and bad like my dad and complains every time he has to watch me. But, I'm _Dean's_ favorite person. He loves me best of anybody."

Aidan chuckled. "I bet you're the apple of his eye."

"He loves me more than he loves the Impala, more than he loves pie and Dean really, really loves pie." Sam felt his appetite wane just a bit with the talk of his big brother, but reasoned Dean would want him to clean his plate. "I think as long as you're somebody's favorite that makes you a lucky kid."

Aidan laughed again, bigger this time. The sound of it somehow added to the warmth Sam was already enjoying. "I believe you're right about that, Samuel. People long for unconditional love."

"You can call me Sam." Sam took a drink of his cocoa, which had now cooled to the point it wouldn't scald his tongue. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth to remove his milky mustache. "Only Pastor Jim and Mac call me Samuel. Dean calls me Sammy and Caleb calls me Runt, which I hate, but kind of like sometimes. Can I have some marshmallows?"

"Look at me being a poor host." Aidan stood, going to the cabinet again. "I must say I'm a little confused, Sam. It seems you have a great multitude of things and people for which to be thankful. What exactly has you on strike against God?"

Sam continued to eat as Aidan rummaged through the contents on the shelves. When the man returned with a bag of miniature sized marshmallows of all colors, Sam's absolute favorite type of marshmallows, the eight year old saw it as another sign that Aidan was indeed trustworthy.

"He did something bad, but Pastor Jim says that's not possible because God is good all the time." Sam pushed some of the chili around. "So, I'm thinking he must have made a mistake."

"So God has done something you don't like?" Aidan opened the bag and set it in front of Sam to take as many as he wanted. He reclaimed his seat.

"Yes, and I want him to fix it." Sam dumped a handful of the small puffs into his cocoa, accidentally on purpose dropping a few in front of Cephas who quickly gobbled them off the floor.

"Much like Jonah?" Aidan stroked his beard, eyeing Sam.

"The guy in the whale?" Sam asked, familiar with the story but not immediately picking up on the comparison between him and The Bible character.

"One in the same." Aidan slid the bag of marshmallows towards him, adding some to his own cup of cocoa before sealing Sam's confidence in him by making sure to drop a few for Cephas as well.

"Why did it eat him again?" Sam took another bite of the chili, chewing as he awaited the answer.

"Much like you, Jonah believed God had made a mistake. He was angry and ran away from God to avoid doing something God asked of him."

"I'm not running away from God," Sam declared after another drink of cocoa. "I'm going to talk to God, to convince him to undo it."

"So you are intent on showing him the error of his ways. Jonah was of a like mind as well."

"Mac says debate is a good skill to master." Sam scraped the bowl for the last bite. "He says getting others to see your point of view is an art."

Aidan laughed. "I think Jonah and Mac may be from the same mold."

"Mac wasn't swallowed by a whale, but he was hit by a drunk driver," Sam said thoughtfully. "He was asleep a long time, and when he woke up everything in his life had changed."

"Great trials often shape men into something new."

"Did getting eaten up by the whale change Jonah's mind about what God had asked?"

"After the whale spat Jonah out on the beach, he did as God said, but I believe it wasn't until God took something that Jonah cared for that he began to understand the reasoning behind his Lord's commands."

"What did he take?"

"A plant that had given him shade. God sent a worm to destroy it."

Sam couldn't imagine ever loving a plant, but knew that Pastor Jim would probably be very angry if worms came for Miss Emma's rose bushes. "God took a person from me, and I don't understand it at all."

"Death is never easy to accept; especially when it means saying goodbye to someone we love."

Sam pushed his bowl away, thoughts of Pastor Solomon changing his mind about asking for seconds. He glanced up at Aidan. "Goodbye is a terrible word."

"It is."

"That's why I have to talk to God."

"I understand your disappointment, and admire your bravery in addressing God personally." Aidan arched a brow. "I do not understand how that led you to be out all alone in the middle of the woods on such a night as this, without a jacket or gloves."

"I wasn't alone," Sam defended. "Scout was with me; at least she was until she saw the squirrel. I think it was a squirrel. It might have been a rabbit or a possum or maybe something worse like a ground hog. Ground hogs can hurt dogs, you know."

Aidan nodded. "Prairie dogs can be quite fierce."

"So I chased after her when she wouldn't come back when I called. That's how I tripped on the root and took a fall."

"It easy to get tripped up especially when we are stumbling along in the dark."

"I didn't know I was so close to the ledge. I fell and when I hit bottom I was all alone. Then I found you." Sam sighed. "But now I'm not sure how to get to Miss Emma's Garden, it's where Pastor Jim says he goes to talk to God and I'm not sure I even remember how to get home and Scout's out there somewhere."

"I'm sure your family is worried about you." Sam appreciated the fact that Aidan didn't bring up the story Sam had told about a gun toting Dean being with him earlier.

"They may not even know I'm missing. I didn't exactly tell them I was going." Sam wasn't sure how long he'd been gone, but he imagined Jim still busy in the kitchen preparing for Thanksgiving and Dean watching his game. Bobby had been working on his car earlier. Sam wished he was tucked safe in the library now, Scout by his side.

"People are more aware than they seem sometimes."

A wave of irritation for his family had Sam feeling less sorry for his act of defiance. "No one seems very aware about Pastor Solomon being gone. They don't even seem to miss him."

"Life has a way of going on," Aidan conceded. "People deal with loss differently."

"Everyone acts like things are normal. Pastor Solomon was part of our family." Sam did not understand how everyone could go on as normal, how they could think about celebrating Thanksgiving when the worst had happened. "He was a hero. He was one of my favorite people."

"Ah, just like your big brother, Dean."

Sam blinked, his heart picking up its pace. If Solomon could die, so could Dean. So could their Dad. Caleb. Or Mac and Jim. Even Uncle Bobby. Sam had never considered the danger, not in a real sense. Death was an elusive concept, another fairy tale. Jim had said the terrible truth. The dragons had no real power to protect any of them. That left only God. If Sam could not reason with God for Solomon's return, then what guarantee did he have that any of them would be safe, that Dean would be safe?

"Isn't that really what brings you here on this dark night, Samuel? You want to know that what happened to Solomon will not happen to anyone else that you love." Aidan seemed to read Sam's thoughts. He continued before the little boy could reply. "Death comes for everyone, Child. You can't bargain it away. It does not differentiate between good and evil, old or young. It is not something even the smartest of people can control or the bravest, truest of men can defy. Not even the mightiest of dragons can escape its grasp. No one is exempt, not even our very most favorite people."

"That's not fair." Sam was surprised at the surge of anger that had him heating up faster than the roaring fire behind him. How could Aidan possibly understand what Sam was searching for before Sam had realized it himself.

"No, but it is the truth."

"Dean would say the truth sucks." Sam knew Dean would have other choice words as well, maybe even a suggested four letter command for the truth, but he knew better than to parrot such sentiment. Some things cocky older brothers could get away with that their eight year old siblings could not.

"Spoken like someone who has had to say goodbye before."

Sam considered his older brother. The life he'd lived before their dad had joined The Brotherhood. Sam was sometimes jealous that Dean had known another life. He'd known their mother and a different father than the obsessed hunter and Knight Sam knew he was left with. Dean had lived years without the dragons. Sam had never thought about it before but he'd truly only known the confines of The Brotherhood, life inside Prince Samuel's castle walls where he was beginning to realize his family protected him from more than just monsters that stole mothers in the middle of the night and changed fathers forever.

He clenched his fists. "You're saying my family isn't safe."

"I'm saying that there are no guarantees."

"Then what's the point?" Sam's brief experiences had proved that for the most part even the worst circumstances could be bent to his will with enough tenacity and determination. Even when his grandfather took him from his family last summer, the dragons had come to save him. But maybe there were limits to what he could manage by sheer stubbornness, limits to what his family and his big brother could do.

"The point is to give thanks for every day you have with your favorite people. The point is to not dwell on what has been lost, but to be grateful for every moment you have been given, even the painful ones." Aidan squeezed Sam's hand. "The point, Samuel Winchester, is to love well while you can."

"I loved Pastor Solomon, and that didn't change anything."

"Oh, but it did," Aidan assured.

"He's still dead." Obviously Aidan had never lost someone he loved.

"Yes, but the love you had for him and the love he had for you isn't. Love never dies."

"Is that another truth?" Sam frowned.

"Better." Aidan smiled. "It's a promise. Love doesn't disappear once the person is gone. It lives on, bright and vibrant as ever."

Aidan's words brought back something Sam had once read in a book. "Like when a star dies and we still see the light millions of years later."

Aidan laughed. "Exactly like that."

Sam imagined the constellations, the nights at the farm by the pond that Pastor Jim had spent pointing out each one. Sam's favorite was Draco. Dean always picked Orion, the hunter. Last summer Pastor Solomon had stayed a weekend at the farm, joining in on one of their mock campouts complete with hotdogs and S'mores. The old pastor had confessed that he loved the Big Dipper because of Arcturus. Arcturus, he told Sam was the name of the brightest star in the handle. It had shown down on the prophet Job over 2000 years before promising peace in the midst of his suffering. Sam wanted to believe Solomon had found his peace just like Job, but a larger part of him ached to see his friend again.

"But if I don't bring Solomon back, I failed my quest."

"You've failed nothing, Sam. It may not be the way you wanted, but I promise your friend, Solomon is with you, every time you remember him fondly, every time you speak his name. Sometimes the stars are not visible to us, but we know they are still there just the same. You carry Solomon with you as sure as God had delivered him back to you on that mountain top."

"Like magic."

"Magic. Love." Aidan shrugged. "They are often one in the same."

"I love my family," Sam said softly.

"Then they will never truly be lost to you."

"What about when I'm the one who's lost?" Sam was certain he would not be able to find his way back. He'd gone too far. It made his head hurt. The ache was quickly becoming an unbearable pounding just behind his eyes making it hard to focus on Aidan's face that now seemed to swim in and out of focus. Sam was pretty certain the chili might make a spectacular and sudden return.

"Just because you are lost, my child does not mean those you love have lost you."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "You think they're looking for me."

"I think they are much closer than you know."

Cephas let out a whimper, his ears perking up as he stood and looked toward the window. A bark rang out from the other side of the door, faint but unmistakable.

"Scout?" Sam pushed away from the table, stood. "She's here."

"Just where she's always been." Aidan picked up Sam's sweatshirt and boots, offering them to the little boy who stood staring at the door. "I think she's ready for you to come home now."

"I'm ready." Sam hastily slid the hoodie over his head, stepping into his boots, though the room took a vicious spin when he bent at the waist.

Aidan's hand steadied him. "She's not going anywhere without you."

Sam nodded, though he wasn't exactly sure what Aidan meant. He took a deep breath hoping to clear his head. Another bark joined by whining. Cephas tugged on Sam's sleeve, shepherding him to the door. Sam stumbled along, surprised when Aidan beat them there, his big hand hovering above the knob.

"Take care, Samuel Winchester."

Sam wanted to assure Aidan that he would, wanted to thank him for the meal and the talk, but Aidan opened the door before Sam could speak. A wash of cold air blasted over Sam like a monstrous cold wave at the beach. It stole the little boy's breath, taking all the heat he'd gained from the respite along with it. The force must have tumbled Sam as sure as a wall of water would have because when he recovered he was on his back, not in Aidan's great room, but lying on the cold damp ground. Sam heard the trickle of a stream, and when he opened his eyes the moon and starry sky was replaced by ominous dark clouds once more. Fat white flakes of snow swirled down around him.

"Ow," Sam managed the one syllable utterance of his misery although he was unable to do much else. A loud bark startled him. He jumped when Scout's cold nose pushed against his cheek and then under his hair, warm breath tickling his neck. A wet tongue lashed over Sam's face. The pup was curled at his side, part of her body half on top of him. "Scout."

At the sound of her name, the dog barked again, her whole body wriggling. She stood dancing, prancing just out of Sam's reach as if to encourage Sam to get up off the ground, to get moving as well. Sam understood it was probably a good idea, only he was numb from the cold, his limbs sluggish and uncooperative to all commands. Then there was his head which threatened to split open if he so much as tried to move. Sam marveled at how just moments before he was warm in Aidan's cabin. He wanted to look for the big man, ask what was happening but there was a more powerful pull to close his eyes, to go back to sleep. Sam closed his eyes again, drifting like one of the many white flakes floating to the ground. Even Scout's whining couldn't keep Sam anchored though another sound, the echo of his name on the wind had Sam desperate to stay awake, to search the cloud covered night sky for any signs of Orion.

Sam would know his brother's voice anywhere. "Dean."

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

In Thanksgiving

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Sorry this update is longer than my usual time frame. Hopefully it will go smoothly from now on. Also, expect the first chapter of mine and Tidia's new story as well!Thank you to all those who take the time to review and to those who simply read and enjoy. I hope this does not disappoint.

RCJ

"_If you can't be thankful for what you have received, be thankful for what you have escaped."_-anonymous_

"Dean!"

Caleb's voice rang out with a heated edge that told Dean the unheeded shouts of 'Deuce' had not gone over well.

"Sammy!" Dean ignored his best friend, calling out for his brother again as he stumbled along the darkened path. The snow had picked up and although the ground promised it was too warm for much accumulation and would not stay around for morning the sticky wet stuff made the terrain even more treacherous for the time being. He could see the bobbing light from Caleb's flashlight behind him, evidence that the older hunter was practically running to keep up to the younger teen. Dean's own flashlight moved erratically as he swept it over the ground in front of him to the tree line and back, hoping to spot any trace of Sam. Dean slid on a rock covered in leaves and slush. He stayed on his feet, but it was enough of a misstep that Caleb managed to get a hold of the back of his jacket.

"Slow down, Dean. Now!"

"How about you speed up_, Caleb_?" Dean jerked away, intent on moving again. "You're as slow as Bobby and Jim."

"Damn it, Deuce." Caleb grabbed him once more, his arm this time, making it impossible for Dean to slide away so easily. He spun Dean around so they were face to face, clouds of condensation filling the space between as they both fought to regain their breath. Caleb gave Dean a rough shake. "You breaking a leg or your freaking neck isn't going to help us find Sam any faster, in fact it's going to throw one hell of a wrench in this whole rescue plan."

Dean tried to pull away again. Caleb held fast. Dean could no longer see nor hear Bobby and Pastor Jim, but knew they weren't far behind. They'd catch up soon, and Dean knew Pastor Jim would be about as happy as Caleb was with Dean's full on frontal assault. Dean had taken off in a flash as soon as Caleb had gotten enough of a lock on Scout to point out a trail, to confirm Pastor Jim's suspicion about Sam taking the path to Miss Emma's garden was correct. Atticus was at Caleb's side, ears cocked, panting as if he agreed with Caleb. The intensity of this unexpected night walk was a little much.

"Alright," Dean conceded and Caleb let him go, though he stayed in Dean's personal space as if he expected the younger boy to bolt once more. Dean kept his feet planted, balled his fists. His chest ached from the cold, each breath like fire. He thought he might have looked a little like his dragon alter ego, Athewm-smoke roiling from flared nostrils. "I have to find him. I just want him safe."

"I get that." Caleb gave him a little more room, but his eyes stayed pinned on Dean, his flashlight zeroed on Dean's chest like a laser site. Caleb looked a little like Belac as well, his gold gaze full of fire and brimstone. "But I want to keep you _both_ safe. That means you not ending up over the ravine or impaled on a branch by running through the forest like a mad man."

"I can handle myself." Dean was in no mood to be coddled or corrected. "I'm not a kid."

Caleb was close enough that Dean saw the color flood to his cheeks, his flashing eyes narrow. He was almost to his threshold of patience, a rarity when it came to Dean because no matter what Dean's father said, Caleb was far from a hothead. "Then stop acting like one before I send your ass back to the farm."

"Try it, Dick Head." Dean lashed out, driving Caleb back a few steps. He almost wished Caleb would take the challenge so he'd have someone on which to unleash his full fury. The longer they had looked for Sam, the more irate Dean had become. He was furious at himself, at his little brother for being stupid and too damn sweet, at their dad for not being there because he was off saving someone other than his own son. Caleb would bear the brunt of Dean's anger instead of returning any violence Dean chose to unleash. It pissed Dean off more, and he thrust a balled up fist at Caleb's chest, landing one vicious punch that had him thinking of the time their grandfather had taken Sam last summer, and how Dean had pummeled Caleb at the pond. Atticus whined, danced between them as Caleb tried another grab at Dean who managed to move out of his reach.

"Boys! Cut the bullshit." Bobby snarled as he appeared on the trail behind them. He held the shotgun he was carrying over his shoulder in surprisingly better shape than Dean had imagined. Jim followed closely behind him and looked about as pleased as Dean imagined.

"That's enough." The Guardian's order rumbled around them, much quieter than Bobby's, but more powerful for the soft tone. "I should send both of you back to the farm for acting like children."

"He started it." Caleb punched a finger at Dean.

"Spoken like a true adult." Bobby smacked the back of Caleb's head. "Idjit."

Dean enjoyed watching his best friend being cut down to size. Right up until the moment Caleb gasped and dropped to his knees as if Bobby had used a hammer instead of an open palm in his assault. At first Dean thought he was totally overreacting to Bobby's attack, maybe playing it up for Jim's benefit. But then Dean realized the grimace of pain and harsh intake of breath had nothing to do with the psychic getting his ass out of the sling and the mechanic into trouble with the pastor. It brought more memories from the previous summer. The beating Caleb had taken while trying to protect Dean and Sam from Charles Connor, the way he'd dropped when the psychopath Peter Marcus shot him before taking Dean.

"Damien." Dean was at his best friend's side, all thoughts of heaping more hurt abandoned. He bent to one knee, put a hand on Caleb's shoulder. Dean ignored the snow that was quickly soaking through his jeans, glaring up at Bobby even though Dean realized the grizzled hunter would never intentionally hurt Caleb.

"Caleb." Pastor Jim appeared on the other side, his quick movement proving the long jaunt hadn't winded the Guardian as much as Dean might have thought. He exchanged a look with Dean, one that was easy to read even in the sparse light. "My boy?"

"I'm alright," Caleb breathed after a long moment. Dean took note of the fact his best friend didn't shake off Jim's help as he made it to his feet.

Bobby grunted. "Could have fooled us, Junior with all the falling down and shit."

Caleb glared at the mechanic. "How about I hit you in the head with a sledge hammer and we'll see if you keep standing."

"Was it a vision?" Jim asked, gently.

Fear leapt again in Dean's chest, a startled stag in the field. "Was it Sammy?"

"It was Sam." Caleb must have spotted Dean's runaway panic as sure as a flash of brown and white tail against green because he was quick to add. "No death vision, just the kid reappearing on the radar."

"Sam's star is back?"

Caleb's smirk told Dean he was amused that Dean remembered the analogy he'd used many years ago. "Little Bear is once more on the horizon, Kiddo."

Dean was sure his face reddened at the mention of the constellation which held Polaris at its tip, and he might have taken the time to punch the older boy again if he wasn't so focused on knowing more about his kid brother. "Does that mean he's awake? Is he okay? Are we close?"

Caleb held up a hand, taking a deep breath before closing his eyes. "He's close."

"And?" Dean demanded, frustration gaining momentum again as he assumed Caleb was holding back.

Caleb opened his eyes, frowned. "And I'm not sure of anything else."

"Not sure, or not saying."

"How about we find your brother and see for ourselves, Kid, instead of putting Junior and his psychic radar on the spot."

Dean might have mouthed off to Bobby, kept pushing Caleb even if he realized he sounded a lot like John Winchester in that moment if the sharp bark hadn't startled them all. It hadn't come from Atticus, but the Golden Retriever dashed forward on the path, returning his own reply in resounding fashion. Dean swung his flashlight in the dog's direction, intent on following. He was certain the first bark was from Scout, but Jim surprised the twelve year old by gripping his arm.

"Caleb and Bobby will take point."

The tone left no room for argument and as much as every protective instinct in Dean screamed at him to give chase, he understood Jim was putting his foot down. This was as much hunt as rescue mission and Dean wore no ring. He might have been Sam's big brother, but in The Brotherhood, he was the youngest by far in rank. Still, he didn't have to like it. He pulled away from Jim, but stayed at The Guardian's side as they quickly, although not as quick as Dean would have liked, followed after Bobby and Caleb.

They reached them just in time to see Caleb start over the edge of a steep incline.

"Sam?"

"Watch it." Bobby put an arm out, effectively blocking Dean from scampering over the side with the older teen and Atticus Finch. Caleb's flashlight bounced and bobbed showing his precarious descent even when Dean lost track of him in the darkness and a swirl of white flakes.

"Careful, my boy," Jim called and Dean wasn't sure which 'boy' The Guardian was referring to as Dean felt his foot slide on the loose earth. Bobby yanked his jacket pulling him back from the side. Dean considered breaking away, orders be damned. Brotherhood would always be more to him than a ring.

"I'll take you down myself as soon as Junior gives the all clear." Bobby wasn't as gruff. Dean almost wished for the mechanic's earlier ire as he tried to push away thoughts of why Caleb might not give the all clear. The unbidden image of Sam's body broken and half covered in snow at the bottom of the ravine had every muscle twitching, quivering like one of Jim's horses when they wanted to buck against their bridle, tear into a dead run.

"I've got him." Caleb's voice echoed around them, along with more elated barking. "It's all good."

"Thank God," Jim breathed, squeezing Dean close to him for a second before relinquishing him to Bobby. "Go help him. I'm going to call Mackland-get an ETA."

Bobby nodded, leveling his own lantern over the side before turning to Dean. "Watch the loose rocks. Walk where I walk."

Dean wanted to roll his eyes, to rebuke the kid glove handling but kept his mouth closed when he knew it would get him to Sam faster. Caleb's definition of 'all good' was anything but clear to Dean. All good meant Sam was awake, able to speak for himself. If that had been the case, Dean's little brother would no doubt have done just that. All good was definitely not finding Caleb bent over Sam's small still body, which was currently lying near a babbling stream. Caleb had placed his flashlight near Sam's head, illuminating Sam's face, which was pale, his lips holding a faint blush of blue in the light of the lantern.

"Sammy!" Dean broke from around Bobby galloping the last few feet to slide in beside Caleb, who was struggling to get out of his coat which he promptly placed over Sam, tucking it around him. Dean made to do the same thing, but Bobby beat him too it.

"Keep yours on, Kid." The mechanic placed his jacket over Sam's legs. Scout rubbed against Atticus who was standing sentry at Sam's head. She whined. "Junior?"

Dean recognized the mechanic's implied request for a rundown. He'd been on a handful of hunts when one of their own had been injured. Field triage was one of the first things Mackland Ames insisted they know, drilled in their head the importance of looking for signs of back and neck injuries. Dean kept his eyes focused on Caleb's face even as he gently pressed both hands on Sam's chest, grateful for the faint rise and fall beneath his palms.

"I don't think anything's broken," Caleb met Dean's green gaze. "He took a hard blow, but he's in one piece."

Dean focused on Sam's slack features. Caleb was a psychic not a doctor. "Are you sure, Damien?"

"I don't think it's bad, Deuce." Caleb ran a hand over Sam's hair, flashed Dean a faint grin when the twelve year old looked up at him. "Looks like the runt got a good lump on the head, but he's a Winchester, so after we get him out of the cold and get some of Jim's warm cocoa in him, he'll be fine."

"He's freezing." Dean frowned at his best friend, moved one hand to Sam's slack face. Dean would not be satisfied until he got reassurance directly from the source. There wasn't any blood. No bones jutting out at unnatural angles. If not for the cold, Sam looked like he was playing possum, which he sometimes did when Dean went in to wake him for school. "Sammy. Sammy can you hear me?"

"I'm guessing Scout kept him warm enough." Caleb reached out and petted the pup. "She's the one who deserves both turkey legs this year for not leaving Sam's side."

"She can have mine." Dean silently vowed he would sneak the dog all the biscuits she wanted as well as he watched dark eyelashes flutter on his little brother's cold cheeks. "Sammy?"

"Come on, Runt." Caleb took Sam's hand, rubbed it between his. "Wake up before your big brother breaks out in tears."

Dean ignored the remark, picked up Sam's other hand and squeezed the cold fingers. He was rewarded with a soft groan and twitching fingers.

"That's it, Einstein," Bobby joined the prompting now. "Wake the hell up so we can all get back to the nice warm farm. Let Mac give you a proper going over when we get there."

Dean hoped the doctor would be waiting as Sam stared up at him with eyes filled with confusion. "Dean?"

"It's me, Little Brother." Dean forced a smile, blinked away the tears that overwhelming relief brought.

"Aidan said you'd find me." Sam's voice was strained and soft, but sweet music to Dean.

"Aidan?" Dean leaned closer, the name stirring memories from long ago, but also churning up more worry for his brother. Dean had been rescued by a man named Aidan when he was hurt several years before, the same incident which Caleb had referenced when he said Dean had once gone off his psychic grid just like Sam. No one had believed Dean's recanting of the tale at the time, insisting that Dean had never left the crash site. Yet, Dean could recall each detail of Aidan and the man's cabin with clarity even all these years later. Dean wondered at the likelihood of it being a coincidence.

"You back with us, Runt?" Caleb interrupted Dean's thoughts and Dean easily pushed his concern to the back burner in light of having Sam with them. Getting him home safe was the first priority. The rest they could deal with later.

"I guess..." Sam didn't sound so sure. He slowly turned his head to look at Caleb, then back to Dean. "Are we in Alabama?"

"I wish." Caleb snorted. "If we were in Alabama you wouldn't almost be an icicle, Runt."

"You're still in Kentucky, Kid." Bobby came around to where Dean was crouched. "Junior decided to grace us with his presence. He claims he couldn't live without Jim's turkey and dumplings, but I think he didn't want to miss out on his girlfriend's sparkling company."

"Rachel came?"

"Rachel?" Bobby looked at Caleb. Dean felt the older teen's heated glare even as he kept his eyes locked on Sam. "Who's Rachel?"

"Caleb's girlfriend," Sam supplied, shifting under Bobby's ministrations.

"Is that right?" Bobby smirked. "I was talking about your brother."

"Dean's still his favorite person." Sam blinked owlishly as if he wasn't quite sure if he was awake or certain of what he was saying. Dean took comfort in the fact his brother was able to track the conversation and wasn't wincing at Bobby's examination.

"Take it easy, Sammy." Dean thought his brother should stay quiet for more than medical reasons.

"The role of favorite person is definitely up for debate after today, Runt. Your big brother's been a giant pain since you disappeared." Caleb's voice was light, teasing for Sam's sake, but Dean still looked up when a twinge of worry twisted his gut. Maybe he'd pushed his friend too far. Caleb didn't meet his gaze. He was looking at Bobby, who gave a sharp nod at whatever silent communication passed between the two.

"Speaking of pain, do you have any, Sam?" Bobby nudged Dean out of the way. "Arms? Legs?"

"I'm cold." Sam frowned and Dean recognized the look of concentration. "My head really hurts."

"I bet." Bobby bent lower, scooping Sam up in his arms. "That's what happens when you Winchesters get a crazy notion in your noggin and go off half-cocked on your own. Just ask your daddy. He's taken his fair share of knocks and needed a rescue."

"Is daddy here?" Sam asked. His eyes tracked Dean. "Did he find Scout? We can't leave without her."

At the sound of her name the pup barked, Atticus following suit.

"See for yourself." Bobby turned so Sam could see both dogs dancing at his feet. "Partner in crime accounted for. You both have some explaining to do."

"It's not her fault," Sam mumbled, resting his head on the mechanic's shoulder. "She's smarter than a groundhog."

The odd observation had Bobby sharing another look with Caleb before starting up the incline. Sam was still watching Dean with half hooded eyes over Singer's shoulder. He reached out a hand.

"I'm right behind you, little brother."

Dean was grateful to see his brother's slight smile, but the question about their father kept the celebration that Sam was going to be okay at bay. He watched Bobby carefully pick his way back up top . Sam was scared, hurt and Jim had not mentioned their father when he'd called Mac earlier. Dean knew if The Knight was with The Scholar he'd be headed back to the farm as well. Dean had learned early on that Mac was sometimes put in a position to cover for his friend with The Guardian. Maybe Dean's dad hadn't met up with Mac for the hunt, maybe there hadn't been a hunt at all, just a reason for John Winchester to duck out on a holiday, to ditch his sons, an excuse from Jim so he wouldn't have to explain his Knight's absence with the painful truth.

"Johnny's with Dad, Deuce. The hunt was legit."

Dean looked up to find Caleb staring at him. He didn't even make an effort to pretend he was angry the older teen was reading him. "You sure?"

"What is it with you and doubting me?"

Dean recognized a loaded question when he heard one. Caleb hadn't done anything to be doubted, ever. All Dean knew was he was angry and frustrated and scared, and not all of those emotions had anything to do with Caleb having a girlfriend or Sam taking years off his life by trying to pull a Lazarus for old Pastor Solomon.

When he didn't reply, Caleb tried another approach. "I promise Draco and Pegasus are accounted for. They'll beat us back to the farm. Mac will go overboard in playing resident Brotherhood neurosurgeon and Johnny will try to find a way to blame me for not seeing this happen weeks ago."

Dean hoped rolling his eyes would cover the look of relief he knew was showing on his face. A thorough Mac and blustering father didn't sound so bad compared to the alternative. "You know Mac would be pissed if he knew he was some frilly horse from a ten year old girl's Trapper Keeper in your psychic constellation map."

"It's not my fault Copernicus or none of his star-gazing buddies looked at the heavens and saw a giant brain." Caleb picked up his flashlight and started up the hill. Glancing at Dean once more to make sure he was following. "Besides all great heroes ride in to the rescue on a white horse."

"With wings?" Dean kept his friend's pace; marveling at the fact Sam had missed all the jagged rocks that stuck haphazardly out of the side of the ravine. The word miracle came to mind and with it the name Sam had said. Aidan. Dean would have to ask his brother about the carpenter, and his dog Cephas.

"Dragons have wings."

The mention of dragons had Dean focusing on the present. He could hear Pastor Jim talking to Sam above them, the dogs' heavy breathing as they stayed in stride with him and Caleb. "I guess it could have been worse and you could have linked him with Cassiopeia."

"Well the chair and throne thing might appeal to him. You know Mac has a bit of a king complex."

"I'm pretty sure Mac would prefer being Polaris." Dean knew most parents wanted to be the center of their children's universe. Laying claim to the guiding force of The North Star, the permanent, unchanging, immutable fixture would be any father's wish. John Winchester seemed the exception, more than okay with being as elusive as a black hole at times.

Caleb crested the top, turned in time to offer Dean a hand up. "That one's already taken."

Dean gripped his best friend's hand, let Caleb pull him over the last few feet to find sure purchase on the trail once more. "By your favorite person?"

"Maybe." Caleb hedged, releasing his hold once Dean was a few feet from the ledge.

"Even if he has been a huge pain in your ass lately." Dean knew he should apologize, but wasn't sure where to start.

Caleb sighed, letting him off the hook. "Even if."

Bobby's loud whistle robbed Dean of the chance to respond.

"Get a move on, Boys," the mechanic called from further up the trail. "Sam's ready for a roaring fire and some pie."

"Ten to one it's Bobby who's ready for food," Dean said as he and Caleb followed the mechanic's command and picked up their pace. "We'll be lucky if Jim doesn't lock down the kitchen until tomorrow morning, then we'll all be putting in hard time peeling potatoes and seeding pumpkins all day."

"And to think, I could have been working on my very important school project and eating Ramen noodles in my dorm."

Dean glanced up at Caleb with every intention of telling his best friend just how thankful he was that Caleb had showed. More importantly he'd helped find Sam, but sappy scenes were never their way. He bumped into the older boy instead. "There's always Christmas, Damien."

TBC


End file.
